Reckless
by St.Jack
Summary: Yakuza Aoyama, Gun-toting Keitaro and more mooks than you can shake a stick at.


What you can expect : Mangled continuity & character lives, OOC Keitaro (though I hope to explain why) and a curious difficulty with staying in past tense, 

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Disclaimer: I own lots of things, Love Hina is not one of them.

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Reckless  
Chapter 1 : The woman in the red dress.

* * *

He was not as nearly as drunk as he wanted to be. First night back without Naru waiting for him, no classes until Monday and here he was with two jokers who wanted to get laid.

"Keitaro" Haitani shouted over the bounce of jpop-eurotrash fusion "I'd like you to meet my two new best friends, Miki and Asa". He points at the women on either side of him in turn, their carefully coiffured manes dance as they carefully cover their expensive drinks and laugh with him.

Keitaro caught the eye of one of the waitresses and raised his empty glass, harried and not quite as attractive or well dressed, they looked poor sisters to the exotically made up creatures who worked the floor.

A double arrived, it went down smoothly and Haitani leaned across the booth.

"Come on man, you just get back in town after half a year in the wilderness, you're ready to go and able yeah? Just relax, I'll call one of them over and.."

"No." Flat and with a frown, the subject was closed.

Haitani lost his smile and the mood changed.

"Look, I know you loved Naru and maybe she loved you back, but it's done, you've had six months to get used to the idea and this is now" he gestured around at the club.

"We're here to show you a good time and so are these lovely ladies" He leant back and the two 'ladies' discreetly reentered his space, returning from their professional distance.

He looked at Keitaro for a moment.

"You still can? Right? You haven't ended up like him?" He nodded in Shirai's direction.

The object of his scorn was staring towards the upper level with a faint smile on his face. Guarded by a bulldog in a monkey suit, the Old men stared down at the writhing dance floor. Hypnotised, they ignored the young women who hung on their arms and ordered drink after expensive drink.

They could afford it.

Keitaro ordered another with one for Shirai, who didn't notice when they arrived. He started slightly when nudged and blinked.

Haitani and the girls laughed uproariously, "No chance man, No chance" he shook his head, "She's too dangerous for the likes of you" Shirai sighed lustily and one of the girls slid over to distract him.

He ignored her.

Keitaro followed his gaze to the balcony.

A tall woman stood there overseeing the festivities from on high. Her hair was long and dark and an elegant red dress hung lightly from her right shoulder. She turned her head and saw him, raised a wide glass of something red and smiled, a luscious red upturn of one corner of her mouth.

She turned away and sat in a wide chair, crossed her long legs and rested one hand on the long wooden bokken that rested there against an arm.

"She's the Boss, _a_ boss anyway, she's supposed to be connected, _family_," Haitani leant in again, grave "Just looking could get you into trouble".

Keitaro caught a glare from the muscle and looked down quickly. His amber tinted glass distorted the club into reality and he relaxed a little, feeling the buzz.

A distorted shape and he looked up, a fox from the bar is there with smiling eyes and a frosted glass of old Islay, more than he could afford.

He tried to hand it back to her but she shook her head and long strands of her silver hair shifted gently.

"Courtesy of the management"

He looked quickly up at the balcony; She was still there, still looking down at the dancers.

The bartender left and he sipped his new drink.

* * *

Keitaro stepped with drunken care into the men's and closed the door behind him.

Inside dim light lit walls covered in shadowed graffiti that hung above wide pools of piss. The six dingy cubicles were locked and five men stood abreast in front of the trough, they huddled shoulder to shoulder on the narrow step and swayed gently as they went about their business.

One finished and turned, he got a foot down off the step and slipped towards Keitaro. He landed face first with a crunch of broken nose and stayed there, his brightly coloured shirt darkened slowly and the faded electric blue of a tattoo peeked out from under his left shirt cuff.

_Great, Yaks._ Keitaro sighed and looked for somewhere dry to stand.

The other four turned at the noise, adjusted themselves and took in the scene. Their friend lay outstretched on the floor, between him and the door was a tanned stranger in shirtsleeves, looking down with disgust on his face.

"Hey!" The tallest strode forward, his nose in the air. "What do you think ya doing huh?" They wore cheap suit jackets over brightly patterned shirts and their open collars displayed gaudy jewelry.

The three at the back sneered in support and each of them placed a hand out of sight.

Keitaro nudged the unconscious man with his foot then glanced at the others over his narrow framed glasses.

"He slipped, that's all" He raised his hands up in the air with palms forward.

_Look at me, I'm Harmless._

They didn't buy it, so he shifted his feet slightly.

The leader chewed out a guttural growl, ducked low to his left and sprung forward. His right hand came up holding a short, thin bladed knife.

_A little knife fighting_.

With a twist Keitaro stepped sideways inside the man's guard, caught the knife hand with both of his own and spun, catapulting the knife fighter over his shoulder and into the closed door behind him.

He straightened and stepped towards the others with an apologetic smile. They stood still, shocked at his response to their sudden violence.

He halted at a groan from behind. They drew their own knives and stooped slightly, hesitant.

Keitaro glanced about the small room, a wet floor made fast movements dangerous and four to one odds were tight enough.

He wasn't _that_ good.

So he turned, hurdled the straightening mobster and sprinted through the now open door, back to the club proper.

* * *

He came barreling out of the narrow corridor and paused as the room spun.

_Too much booze, I'm supposed to do this sober,_ he smiled wryly; at least for a little while he'd forgotten her. The sounds of noisy pursuit forced the room back into focus.

He looked over at the booth on the other side of the room; Haitani was still there, his head bent downwards, forehead to forehead with one of his new best friends.

Shirai was missing.

Keitaro eyes scanned the room.

_There. _His friend stood leaning forward onto the bar, elbow to elbow with an older woman.

He half walked, half ran down the room, trying unsuccessfully to dodge dancers and drinkers alike. He ignored the curses that rose in his wake and focused on the back of his friend.

Shirai and the woman were leaning in towards eachother shouting into each other's ears.

Keitaro glanced at her face,

_Standards are still low I see_.

So he interrupted.

"Shirai" he grabbed the other by the jacket and wrenched him around off the bar, "It's time to go."

He locked an arm around his friend and manhandled him across the front of the bar, ignoring the squeals of protest from his passenger and the look of loss on the woman's face.

They had made it back to the booth when the screams started.

He didn't look back but picked up his favorite jacket and put it on.

By this time, Haitani had come up for air.

"What's the rush?" He choked when Keitaro leant across the table and pulled him upright by his tie.

"Trouble, we've got to go"

Haitani's eyes widened as he looked over his friend's shoulder. Keitaro let go of the tie and risked a glance.

A pointed and finger and the four men from the toilet began making their way diagonally across the floor, forcing the dancers out of the way with the occasional brandishing of a knife.

Suited Muscle appeared in groups around the edge of the room and conferred.

The friendly girls scattered with quiet professionalism as Keitaro finally got his friends out of the booth. He slowly pulled them down the length of the room towards the exit.

One of the knife wielders broke free from the press of terrified clubbers and raced towards them.

He got a hand on Keitaro's arm but a swift low kick took his legs out from underneath him and he crumpled to the floor.

Haitani and Shirai bolted for the exit as a large meaty came down on Keitaro's shoulder, he looked up into a bouncer's frowning face and swore.

* * *

Keitaro noted with satisfaction that they bounced as they hit the pavement, when it was his turn he rolled as Seta had taught him and came up better than the other four.

The door slammed shut and he looked around, they'd been thrown out a side entrance to the club and were in a narrow detritus flaked alleyway. He looked up; brown brick walls towered above him and reached high into the dark grey sky.

There came a muffled sound and he smiled, the intoxicating rush of danger was unfamiliar to him here in Tokyo but the adrenaline burning through his veins told him that in this context, there were few difference between the jungles of Molmol and this urban landscape.

They tried not to interrupt his reverie by moving quietly and low from either side.

He waited until the tallest was within reach then with a single step, came out along the outer side of the man's knife arm. He caught it with his own left hand, kicked upwards and pulled.

The yakuza went head over heels and onto his back with a sharp crack of broken bone and lay there, moaning and cradling his hand.

Keitaro stepped around behind the next, caught the man's right arm precisely in two hands and dislocated his shoulder. He fell then, yelping as he hit the ground on his right side.

With a spin Keitaro completed his turn and stood facing the other two.

The closer and elder of the two turned his head and growled,

"Go get the others, I'll hold him here."

The younger protested but turned swiftly enough, ran down the length of the building towards the back of the club and disappeared around the corner.

The remaining mobster crouched in a low stance, swapping his knife from hand to hand, sweating profusely.

_There are more of them?_ With new urgency Keitaro stepped lightly forward and sprang at the man.

The remaining knife wielder had been hit three times before he had time to react. A chop at the wrist to force the knife to fall, A low sweep from behind to take his legs out and a swift jab to the stomach on the way down to knock the wind out of him.

He lay there gasping on the ground, unable to breathe and watched as the man who had beaten him walked away.

Keitaro ignored the sounds of deep wracking sobs from behind him,

_He'll be fine,_ He knew.

He had been careful to master restraint and control in his training. It had started as a way to pass the time with Seta on the Digs and had grown into an obsession as he came to find joy in a physical grace that he had never before possessed.

_A lucky thing too as it turned out, _he shied away from other, less happy memories.

He rounded the corner and saw a large group of men; the one he recognised was talking animatedly with another, older man, who carried a large ribbed, silver suitcase. The others lounged around, eyes darting, keeping watch.

"Idiots" The older man backhanded the younger to the ground.

"You were supposed to be keeping watch, making sure they weren't suspicious", he kicked out and the one on the ground curled around his foot. "Not getting piss drunk and starting fights", he spat in obvious disgust.

One of the others walked over and whispered in his ear, his head came up and he focused on Keitaro.

"So this is the shrimp who took down four of my boys" He sneered and drew a silver wrought pistol from his suit jacket, the others formed up behind him and drew their own weapons, all pointed at one man.

_Guns._

Keitaro sighed, slowly removed his jacket and held it in one hand.

_I know how to deal with guns._

_

* * *

  
_

A cool wind chilled the sweat on Keitaro arms as he stepped out of the alleyway. He stopped, did up his shirt cuffs and looked around, enjoying the breeze.

A few late night stragglers walked down the almost empty street. Some stepped slowly with fatigue, their empty wallets weighing heavily in their pockets. Others moved quickly in small groups, their eyes dancing as they laugh tiredly among themselves, telling stories of their night's hard work.

He stretched, aching for a cigarette, and glanced at the now closed entrance to the club.

The Neon lights above spelt _Pulse_ and under their furry light the fox from the bar stood alone; her head tilted as she watched him through narrow lidded eyes.

She stepped closer with perfect poise, her heels clacking on the pavement, and handed him a slip of paper.

"Your friend's bill" her low voice betrays a weak Kansai accent that went unnoticed inside.

He frowned slightly and took it, then smiled, wide and awkward.

A loud embarrassed laugh. _It's no more than I deserve for shutting him down like that._

She waited patiently as he danced a little, finally pulling his wallet from a back trouser pocket.

He handed her a wad of small bills.

"Sorry about that" he laughed again with one hand behind his head.

A wide close mouthed smile, she nodded then walked back towards the club.

The neon letters above her head flickered then faded as he turned and walked away, whistling tonelessly.

* * *

Keitaro was only two blocks from his sister's apartment when he remembered.

_Damn,_ He stopped, _that's my best jacket._

_

* * *

  
_

With his shoulders hunched against the mounting wind he turned and began walking back.

Katsuo Ito, member of the great Inagawa-kai, shivered in the cold and looked around at his subordinates; they were all reliable, handpicked men.

He glanced at his watch; Masaru would be ready and in position by now.

He motioned to his men and they gathered around him "Remember, when it goes off we fire and _don't let her get close to you_, fire early if you have to."

He looked around at their faces, they were young and eager, their faces glowed with the pride of being chosen for the night's work, a feeling he shared.

He nodded decisively, "Lets show that witch that you can't fuck with Toshiro-sama and get away with it" His voice rose at the end and they joined him in a shared roar.

They draw their silenced pistols and split up to plan, half around the left to the side entrance and the others to go with him in the front.

A particularly promising youngster drilled the lock of the club's steel double doors and they streamed in, pistols raised and he followed, walking tall.

Past a closed booth set into the wall, around a corner and straight down a narrow corridor they came to another set of doors. Wrought on them in steel and elaborate design was the word 'Pulse'.

They gathered there and he counted with his fingers;

1,

2,

3.

He kicked the doors open and they streamed in, pistols up and ready.

Three tired looking women in shapeless dresses scattered squealing as he ran his eyes over the room.

No Muscle, No Help.

_How arrogant._

Their Intel had been good, booths ran down the walls to his left and right terminating in a bar at the opposite end of the room, on either side of it were stairs climbing up to the upper level.

There she was, high and to the left, leaning on the rail, looking down at them with a cool expression and raised eyebrow. Her silver haired second stood there as well, her narrowed eyes betrayed more surprise than her mistress let show.

"AOYAMA," He roared and the others came in through a narrow door to his left, they raised their guns towards the two women.

"Ito-san, this _is_ unexpected, would you like drink?" She smiled disingenuously with both of her eyebrows raised.

Then her voice went cold.

"And it's Nishiguchi now, don't _ever_ call me by that name." The other woman backed away from the railing and disappeared from his sight.

"It took us a while to find out where you were hiding", He sneered for his men, to bolster their courage, "It was unbelievable, here, in Tokyo, so far from your _family"_

She just stood there, back straight, silent.

Emboldened by her lack of reaction he spoke again "We're going to take you back to where you belong, Toshiro-sama is most eagerly awaiting your return, he thinks you owe him, you see."

She tittered and smiled suddenly, a sharp narrow thing full of white shark's teeth.

"Perhaps I should have cut off more than just his wandering hands."

A spike of anger, "It is not your place to judge him _woman"_

"And how is your precious older brother by the way?" Her voice was arch and catty, "I'm sure that little maid of his is _more_ than happy to wipe his..."

"ENOUGH" He roared to stop her soiling of their leader's dignity," You _will_ come with us and you _will_ pay for what you did."

He smiles nastily,"With or without bullet holes".

With a wide sweeping gesture from his right arm he looked with dramatic poise at the wall below her. His left hand came down as she frowned and followed his gaze with her own.

It was then that he pressed the thin cylindrical detonator in his pocket and all hell broke loose.

* * *

Keitaro wormed himself out from underneath the bags of rubbish where he'd been thrown when the silver case exploded. His hand cramped around the tattered remains of his jacket.

_Shit._

He dropped the shredded leather and stood up painfully.

A bullet cracked into the wall beside him and he paused.

A hole had been blown in the wall of the club he'd left earlier.

He looked through into the interior of the bar where a woman knelt among shattered glass and spilt alcohol; she fired left then right with a pistol that she held outstretched in both hands.

There came a roar of gunfire and she ducked down to reload frantically.

_You never could just leave them alone._

His choice made, he sprinted forward and dived through the shattered masonry, slid, rolled and came up beside her with his back to the bar.

A wince.

_Glass._

She turned in surprise and her shoulder length silver hair danced in the flickering fluorescent light.

He smiled, "We have to stop meeting like this"

She rolled her eyes and gestured doubtfully with her weapon, "Do you know how to handle one of these?"

A nod, she handed it to him then drew another.

Gunfire ricocheted off the front of the metal bar as he turned around on his knees, wincing at the crunch of glass. There was a lull and he stuck his head around the side to have a look.

The aggressors were advancing down either side of the room.

On the left, one would fire wildly, Keitaro ducked back into cover then stuck his head out again, then another would crawl forward beneath the joined seating, kneel then reciprocate for his friend who joined him one booth closer.

On the right, the overlooking gallery had collapsed; tables and chairs tilted crazily on chunks of timber flooring at ground level. Unable to use their neighbours' tactic, the seven or eight men there crouched behind some of the larger pieces of rubble that now lay scattered across the floor.

A few lights were still on though most flickered sporadically, shining through air dusty with powdered plaster.

Keitaro placed his gun flat on the floor, fired two rounds and was rewarded with a yelp of pain and a volley of return fire.

He ducked back in and sat shoulder to shoulder with the beautiful recurring stranger.

"On three?"

She nodded and slipped another clip into her gun

"1"

"2"

An auspicious lull in fire,

"3."  
They both stood and in concert their guns went off.

One on the left took a bullet in the face then a hole blossomed in the cushion next to him, a groan and there were two more down. Keitaro peppered the chairs and tables with bullets but his lady partner ran out and had to drop down.

He was on the way to join her when pain spiked in his left shoulder, he slipped and fell heavily.

She crawled over but he pushed her away with his good arm,

"I'm fine" Her face said she didn't believe him but she went back to firing over the bar anyway.

He levered himself upright and peeked over the top, the left was quiet so he fired blindly towards the right. A dull ache began in his left arm and it hung there limply,

He forced himself to ignore it.

One and a half vs. nine to ten with no room to move. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to think positively.

Luck had favoured him already that night

_I hope she keeps it up_.

There was a thunderous detonation from the right side of the room as cement and timber shrapnel went flying in all directions.

Keitaro recognised the woman standing there, though her once red dress was dusty and shredded there was no mistaking those delicate features and air of proprietary ownership.

She stood there for a moment and surveyed the wreckage of her once glittering club.

"KILL HER" her face hardened as the enemy came back to themselves and opened fire.

Then she was among them, a blur that flowed gracefully from man to man, a wooden sword that struck with blinding speed, chest, arms and necks in rapid succession.

Before Keitaro could properly react, she was done and walking delicately across the room, a dusty red goddess of vengeful aspect.

A man lay there and she looked down at him with a cold sneer on her lips, spoke, heard the reply then lashed out with her sword.

Keitaro's ears rung in the sudden silence and he stood only with help from one of the fox's arms about his shoulder.

The warrior woman walked briskly down the length of the room and he licked the dust from his lips, suddenly nervous.

"And who is this?" Her voice is as he imagined it to be, low and smooth, flowing out past those lips like peaked red velvet. She raised an eyebrow and looked at him closely. A damp wetness ran down his side and pain, a roaring, all engulfing fire.

He opened his mouth but no words came out and the room spun as darkness swiftly encroached from the edges.

Their mouths moved, he heard nothing.

And then he fell.

* * *

Kichirou was slow to wake in the chill dawn. He first became aware of a dull throbbing in his nose that grew into steady regular spikes of pain.

His eyes opened and he lay there for a while.

He stood with one hand over his face. It was a slow business, his arms and legs were stiff from the cold.

A glance around, he recognised the men's toilet.

This was reasonable; the last thing he remembered was standing at the trough behind him.

But there were a few things that just didn't fit.

The most important of all being;

_Why the hell am I covered in piss?._

_

* * *

_

I don't know where it's going , but I know where it came from.

What do you think ?

Be Brutal.


End file.
